In Envy of Some Greatness
by Cheers
Summary: A contemplation of the impact of Gil Grissom.


This story is based on characters created by Anthony E. Zuiker for the television series CSI: Crime Scene Investigation.

In Envy of Some Greatness

by Cheers

Fourteen to three, night shift wins the softball game. Grissom not only pitched the game but hit two homers. Freak. Signature killer caught, a "law enforcement employee" discovers the truth. Millander the serial killer caught, the wonderful Gil Grissom figures out the hidden truth. Accused arsonist released after Grissom proves his innocence. The guy was a one-man goddamned crime solving machine. His "team" practically worshipped him, hung on every word he uttered.

Now they were his disciples, spreading Grissomisms everywhere they went, converting the unbelievers and drawing those less worthy back from the dark side. Christ.

Conrad Eckley sat at his desk and swore to himself some more. The Sheriff, Brian Mobley, used to think of Conrad as the leader of the A-team. Used to. Then Grissom pulled that hat trick in court and saved the collective butts of the entire night shift, not to mention salvaging the whole goddamn case.

Now Conrad was holding not one, not two, but three – fucking three requests for educational reimbursement from members of HIS shift, HIS team. They had all attended the messiah's most recent seminar in Los Angeles this past weekend. Worse than that, Grissom expensed out the trip and gave the funds raised from this seminar to the department, allocating it for new equipment acquisitions. Acquisitions the Great Grissom had requested based on his vast forensics experience. Shit.

Conrad had over fifteen years of forensic experience himself. He had a Master's degree in chemistry and another in criminal science. True, Grissom had two Ph.D.s, but he had only worked for the LVMPD for just under sixteen years. The lab techs placed Grissom's projects automatically at the top of their lists every day. Conrad was getting really tired of being second banana simply because Grissom had six lousy months of seniority on him. That was unadulterated bullshit.

It was also true the Conrad felt the impact of Grissom's entomology expertise. How many times in the past year had some colleague asked him if he worked with "the bug guy"? Grissom was one of perhaps a dozen experts in forensic entomology. Prestige like that did a lot for the entire department.

But the son of a bitch wasn't a "people" person. He had team members who filled those shoes for him. Grissom had pissed off more brass in the department than he ever impressed with his credentials. He had pissed them off but obviously he had impressed them as well.

When Captain Brass was moved back to homicide the Sheriff saw fit to give the running of the unit over to the messiah, not Conrad. That was probably because Brass had led the brass by the nose in that. Damned Brass always favored Grissom's style. That was probably because they both shared the same caliber of people skills. Piss ass poor. Conrad had gotten screwed on that one and he knew it. Everybody knew that Conrad had the better personnel management skills, not to mention his superior skills with materials management and record completion. The whole goddamned department would fall apart from neglect if Conrad didn't pay attention to the little details that the mighty mighty felt was too far beneath him to attend to.

He shook his head, dropping the requests back on his desk. What the hell was he doing wrong? Grissom shouldn't be this popular, nor should his record stand out so prominently. Conrad's own record wasn't deficient. He had put a few away in his day. Conrad's unsolved case list was just two cases longer than Grissom's. His team did more than just a fine job and they did everything they did in the bright light of the sun, under the very watchful eye of the world, not in the comparative darkness of the night hours. There were unique pressures associated with the day shift and people should be educated to appreciate that.

Looking back on his desk, Conrad picked up the Sunday Las Vegas Sun Vegas section opened to a glowing article about the teaching exploits of the wonderful Gil Grissom, complete with picture of the man with the boyish grin and the great hair. Unconsciously Conrad ran a hand over the smooth skin of his balding scalp. Grissom may not be the most people-oriented person on earth but he had a handsome magnetism that drew people to him -- the pied piper of forensics, drawing the unwary into cultish worship of his investigative techniques.

It was Grissom that Millander toyed with … until Grissom caught him. It was Grissom that the department turned to when the Strip Strangler was thought to be caught. Grissom had said he knew the truth … and damned if he wasn't right. It was Grissom who was able to find the I-15 killer and save the last victim from certain death. Conrad was on the wrong shift, that was all. Those cases had come in on the night shift.

Fucking liar, Conrad said to himself, careful not to utter a sound. He knew, down deep where he didn't let anyone else look, that the truth had nothing to do with relative shifts.

That bastard Grissom was a talented scientist. Goddamned man was a crime-solving machine all right. He seemed to know everything, be everywhere, help everyone and prove himself fucking invaluable to the forensics department. Conrad had a wife and two kids. He simply couldn't spend his every waking hour at work. He had other obligations.

As much as he liked to think that Grissom's single status resulted from character deficiencies, it was most likely due to a workaholic nature. Grissom ate, drank and slept scientific investigation. His seminar attendance records proved that what he had to say held value to the forensic community.

Okay, if he was going to be completely honest, he envied the members of his team who had gone to Los Angeles last weekend. Conrad would have loved to have been there himself, but with Grissom out of the office, another supervisor had to be on administrative call. And during Eckley's opportunity to shine out from under Grissom's shadow, not a single exceptional crime was committed. It was a goddamn cosmic conspiracy.

Conrad sighed heavily.

Gil Grissom seemed to be a global shadow over his head, spreading out from the forensics lab to cover the police department at large and now the whole west coast forensics community. Shit, the whole damn globe, really. Stewart Singleton had told Conrad he had met the forensics specialist for the government of Sweden and three members of the Scotland Yard labs at Grissom's conference. They had all flown over because of Grissom, and Conrad knew that would do nothing but perpetuate the legend.

Christ, he hated Grissom.

Saying that was saying that he envied him. Conrad didn't know what made him crazier, the thought that his own jealousy conspired against him or the fact that he had to admit that Grissom was so good. There was too much evidence to deny that. Grissom WAS good. But goddamn it, so was Conrad.

One day he would get an opportunity to shine. One day, Grissom.

Sighing again, Conrad swiveled in his chair and reached for the stamp. He pressed it to each of the reimbursement requests and dumped them in his outbox before turning his attention to the department man-hour report he needed to complete today. Each reimbursement request said that same thing, and that burned Conrad's buttons most of all.

They said: Approved.

Fini


End file.
